


The Best Chance

by Robiness



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Developing Relationship, Drama, Dwarves and Hobbits Have the Same Lifespan, Eventual Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Families of Choice, Fluff, Frerin Lives, Friendship, Insecurity, Jealousy, M/M, Protective Thorin, Quest of Erebor, Romance, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, The Author Only Knows Fanon, Timeline What Timeline, but thorin cant decide who he's more jealous of: bro or bilbo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:54:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27366133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robiness/pseuds/Robiness
Summary: Frerin, son of Thrain, the younger prince of Erebor, ends up in the Shire after the tragic battle that almost took his life. Afraid of bringing hostile attention to the line of Durin if he searches for his family, he ends up living in Bag End and making a life among  hobbits. (Happily, he gains another brother along the way.)Bilbo Baggins forms a life-long friendship with Frerin even if the dwarf can't tell him much about his past. As they spend years living together, he has grown to love him as kin and would do many things to ensure his safety and happiness (such as join anextremelyill-advised quest).Thorin Oakenshield and his company visit Hobbiton to fetch their fourteenth member. Mahal blesses them in many ways that night, but who is this upstart burglar? Why is Thorin's little brother so attached to him? (And why does Frerin get sweetness and charm from the hobbit while Thorin gets nothing but impudence???)
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins & Frerin, Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Dwalin/Nori (Tolkien), Frerin & Thorin Oakenshield, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 50
Kudos: 266





	1. A Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed:  
> 1\. I watched the LOTR movies maybe 10 years ago. More recently, I've been reading a lot of everyone lives aus focused on bagginshield. Meaning I really only know fanon, and only a percentage at that.  
> I don't have plans to rectify this since I'm okay with my limited knowledge. However, I know this fandom has a LOT of avid Tolkien readers with entire books in their heads—which is very cool, but if you're the type to get annoyed at inconsistencies with canon, etc, pls pls pls find another fic rather than shout at me later on
> 
> 2\. Sporadic updates since life is busy + a longfic from another fandom is my priority rn. I warned you!!!!! But also, I do know what's going to happen up until the end. Having the time to write it all down will be the problem.
> 
> 3\. Enjoy!

Bungo Baggins would have been appalled at the notion of taking an unknown dwarf into Bag End and would have dithered and delayed and made all sorts of diversions that didn’t _quite_ cross the line into rudeness— or he’d try, that is, until Belladonna Baggins (nee Took) whacked him on the head with a frying pan for the mere thought of turning away someone in need. 

In any case, a stranger arrived in the Shire quite a time after their deaths, and so only Bilbo received him in all his frightfully wounded glory. 

All of Hobbiton were aghast at the sight of a hairy, crawling creature dripping blood on the lush green grasses. Curious fauntlings were shooed away, while some braver folk tried to offer aid only to be put off by the weapons strapped to his person.

Hamfast Gamgee, bless him, decided that watching a person die on Shire lands would be much more horrifying than getting him to a darn healer. He then very bravely took over the situation and allowed the injured lad to lean against him. They hobbled towards the home of the hobbit Gamgee trusted the most as he sent his eldest to fetch the good Thain. 

As Gamgee predicted, Master Baggins looked put out but gamely opened his doors. He sent for the best healer in Bree since Hobbiton rarely saw grievous injuries and cleaned up the dwarf and his wounds the best he could. 

The dwarf who had gratefully sunk against the soft mattress opened his eyes at the touch of a cool rag against his forehead. He asked something in a language Bilbo didn’t speak.

“I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Bilbo said, wiping the muck from the dwarf’s cheek. The copious amounts of hair would be impossible to wash before the dwarf could do it on his own, so Bilbo stuck to the skin. Thankfully the wounds were reachable if very extensive.

It was a very slow recovery even after the healer spent a whole month in another of Bag End’s spare bedrooms to monitor their patient. Occasionally, the dwarf woke and asked questions in the same guttural language and other times he seemed to call out for someone in his sleep as he worked through painful fevers. Throughout this, Bilbo tried to soothe and comfort him even as the neighbours wrote off the dwarf as a lost cause.

Good old Hamfast in the meantime made sure Bilbo was still taking care of himself. He and his wife came over with casseroles and soups and pies on mornings after there was screaming from Bag End. Their children were tasked with tidying when Master Baggins was too tired to rise from his armchair and with asking passing caravans if they were missing a dwarven companion. And the garden, of course, thrived despite Bilbo rarely coming out to give it his usual attention. 

The Gamgees helped tremendously when Belladonna was dying slowly and it was the same now. They were a good family and Bilbo could not ask for better support. 

“He’ll come through, Master Baggins, don’t you worry,” Hamfast said that morning after fixing a wooden pane for him. “He has the best chance here with your care!”

And the dwarf did come through, albeit sluggishly. He woke up several times, each period lengthening until the one morning he stayed conscious enough to have a conversation. 

“Who are you?” he groaned when Bilbo entered the bedroom with a tray of foods he'd share with the patient.

“Oh thank Yavanna you speak Westron, I was starting to despair,” Bilbo replied with much glee. With equal gusto, he pushed the rising dwarf back down. “Now, don’t try to get up now, you silly dwarf, you haven’t fully recovered yet.”

“Again… who are you? Where am I?”

“Oh, my manners have escaped me. My name is Bilbo Baggins and you are in Bag End, my home. We’re in the Shire right now.”

“The… Shire?”

“Yes. Yavanna’s green hills, some call it. Only hobbits live here usually, and I dare say that you’re one of the few members of other races that have stayed here for an extended period of time. It’s caused quite a stir, as well as a spike in suspicions of my madness. Ah, never mind all that. Do you have a name, Master Dwarf?”

Said dwarf seemed confused by his sharing, but he perked up at the question. “Frerin, son of Thrain. At your service... even though it seems I owe you much instead.”

“None of that, Frerin, son of Thrain. Bungo was _my_ father’s name. He was a very respectable sort and though there was a _bit_ more blood on the floor than he’d approve of, I’d like to think he raised me to give aid whenever I am able.”

“My father was… Master Baggins, has anyone come looking for me?”

Bilbo’s face fell and he had to stop himself from wringing his hands. “I apologize. We’ve tried to ask the dwarven caravans and the folks all the way to Bree, but we haven’t been able to find anyone who knows you. Don’t worry, it should be much easier now that I know your name—”

“ _No!_ ” Frerin gasped, almost throwing himself at Bilbo. “No, please, don’t speak of my name to others.”

“Alright, alright! B-but how will you find your family?”

“My siblings will find me if Mahal wills it, but I cannot risk… others hearing of me and leading the rest of my family to their doom. Please, Master Baggins. You musn’t mention me and especially not my father. I won’t impose on you for longer, I swear it, just please do me this favor.”

“Calm down, you’ll open your stitches!” Bilbo cried, trying to get him back into bed. “I will do as you ask. You’re lucky us hobbits keep to ourselves and that not many races even know we exist. Although I regret that I cannot save you from nosy neighbours and perhaps a hundred curious fauntlings.”

Frerin collapsed with relief. “I thank you, Master Baggins. I promise you won’t have to deal with me for too long.”

After fussing over Frerin’s bandages, Bilbo cleared his throat to hide his nervousness. “So will you be leaving to find your family? Even with the potential danger?”

“I plan to... I have to.”

“Do you even know where to begin your search?”

“I… There was a great battle and I don’t even know if my father and brother survi—no, they must have. They...they surely live. But I cannot return to the battlefield when there’s a chance that the enemy who curses our blood still lives.”

“An enemy?”

“Many enemies, Master Baggins.” Frerin swallowed, raising a hand to trace the bandage around his head wound. “They won’t stop until our line ends.” 

“Please, call me Bilbo. What of your other siblings? You mentioned multiple earlier.”

“My sister is not yet of age, but she was left with a few trusted family members and she herself is formidable in her own right.” The briefly proud tone turned morose. “As for their location… it was supposed to be temporary. There are so many places they could be heading, there were so many plans…”

Bilbo couldn’t help but touch Frerin’s shoulder gently. The lad sounded so lost and so _young._ Bilbo suspects that he’s barely of age himself, and Bilbo could very well relate to losing his family earlier than one should. Frerin’s family may be alive, yes, but seem to be unreachable all the same. The state of his body only exacerbated that.

Not only his wounds from said great battle, oh no, but his visible ribs indicating missed meals and older scars that definitely came from burns. 

“You have many enemies and have undergone much hardship, Master Dwarf,” Bilbo murmured. “If you leave here, you will meet more danger. At the very least, please stay in my home until your injuries fully heal.”

Blue eyes widened at this. “You won’t mind? Truly?”

“No, not at all. In fact, I would prefer you stayed here after all you’ve been through. For as long as you want, I mean. You will be safe here.” 

Frerin was silent for a long while. “What do I have to do in exchange?”

“Nothing! Well, I expect that you don’t make too much of a mess, and maybe you can find a job in town but only so you don’t get bored in here with me.” Guilt started to well up and Bilbo tried to be more forthcoming. “To be honest, Master Dwarf, I am a lone hobbit living in a house meant for a large family. I have no close kin to speak of and silence is my only constant companion. I would probably gain more from your staying than you would.”

Many hobbits would hiss in reproach at this declaration, while some would tell him to be more cautious. Frerin was a stranger after all, but the similarities between the dwarf and a younger Bilbo tugged on the heartstrings. Not to mention the loneliness Bilbo's had to battle for years. Of course, the usual hobbity aversion to going towards trouble also chimed in, but the definition of trouble was arguable at the moment.

“Do not worry, Master Dwarf, for the decision is yours. I’ve heard that dwarves are a private and wary bunch, and you have only met me today. I promise that you will still have all the help you need while you recover, and if you do decide to leave, I will make sure you have ample supplies to aid you on your journey.”

“Yours in a generous offer, Master Baggins,” Frerin commented, brow furrowed.

Bilbo smiled even when no other words followed. “As I said, you may call me Bilbo and my offer is much less generous than you think.” Reaching once more for the food tray, he exclaimed, “We haven’t even eaten yet— I ought to pull out the hairs off my feet with how rude I’m being! My grandmother always said that making important offers should never be done before luncheon.”

In the weeks following, Frerin only grew stronger and more confident in his body. Other than random headaches and limited range of motion from his right arm, it was almost like he was never at the death’s door.

Bilbo did not repeat his offer of Bag End, even as wistfulness engulfed him whenever Frerin grinned at his wit or laughed at his stories about various relatives. The dwarf was amiable and had a clever mouth on him as well, causing banter and snark to liven up the smial. Indeed, the idea of Frerin leaving was bittersweet, but Bilbo appreciated the company all the same.

“Master Dwarf, could you please hand me that small green shovel?” he asked, one of the afternoons that he tended to his flowers. Frerin was off to the side, having just finished entertaining the Cotton fauntlings with tales of adventures almost better than those from Bilbo’s library. Apparently, he found it relaxing to just sit and watch Bilbo garden when his head ailed him after a long day of conversing.

The dwarf readily obliged. When he’d handed the shovel over, he kept his keen eyes on the hobbit. “You know, Bilbo,” he started, deceptively casual. “Since we’re living together for the foreseeable future, you might as well call me Frerin.”


	2. A Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo doesn't get to eat as much as he wants to in this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how DARE u all validate me so early 
> 
> Don't get used to this update speed tho, I just feel guilty whenever there's a prologue with no first chapter immediately after—I'm NOT going to spoil you, you rascals!!! no...............i will not allow it.......

That particular morning started peacefully, as many others before it.

~

By midday, there was a churning in Bilbo’s gut that put him off his elevensies. Imagine!

“Bilbo!” Frerin called from outside. Good, at least someone could enjoy the pork pie he’d been salivating for all morning. 

He gave it a mournful look then left the dining room to see what Frerin needed at the porch. “Frerin, Have you forgotten your key again? I told you that we ought to braid it into your hair, goodness knows it’s a large enough—” 

Frerin wasn’t even looking at him when he unlocked the door. Everything seemed normal at first: he had his bow slung behind him, his golden hair tied back neatly. He was in his bounder attire, having done his morning shift before heading back to town. In his arms were numerous parcels from the market, filled with their stock for the week.

Blue eyes were fixed a little above Bilbo. He didn’t look wary or the like. He looked rather… awed, if Bilbo were to guess. Really, there was no cause for alarm, but the foreboding feeling in Bilbo’s gut expanded and he couldn’t help but gulp.

“Frerin?”

Frerin did not look away from whatever caught his attention. Bilbo tried to follow his gaze but again, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Their smial was intact: the hanging plants lush, the windows squeaky clean, everything was cozy as ever and recently refreshed to boot. 

“Bilbo,” Frerin said slowly. “Why is there a rune carved into our front door?”

“What? Where?”

“On the other side. There’s a rune there at the top.”

Bilbo swung the door closed to look on the outdoor side of it. True enough, there was a glowing sigil on their newly-painted door and he definitely knew who carved it. 

“Oh, that blasted wizard! Trouble follows him indeed! A wizard visited me this morning, Frerin, and seemed to take offense when I greeted him good morning, can you imagine? And he started talking of adventures and other silly things…”

“Dwarves?” Frerin said, finally turning to Bilbo. There was a hint of desperation in his voice. “Did he then speak of dwarves?”

“No, not at all. He mentioned an adventure that he wanted to involve me in, just like how he whisked away my mother. I mentioned him before — the tall old man with the poppers? I regret complimenting them now... Absence indeed clouds one's judgment... Why do you ask? Is it a spell? A curse? Frerin, you’re concerning me.”

Frerin’s shoulders had slumped infinitesimally as Bilbo was speaking, and Bilbo reached up to grasp them in concern. 

“It’s a Khuzdul rune.”

Bilbo startled. “Truly?” He stuck his face as close to the door as possible without squinting and examined it as if he could learn the entirety of the secret dwarven language through this single symbol. “Does he know you’re here? Is it a message for you?” Really though, the hobbit could have very well given the wizard a quill and parchment if he’d just asked, no matter how fascinating the unknown script was.

“Inside,” Frerin hissed in lieu of a response and ushered Bilbo in as if he were the one dilly-dallying on the porch. 

It might have been worrying for a near-stranger to know of Frerin, who took care not to broadcast himself beyond their little town, yet for some reason, Bilbo still trusted his mother’s friend. It had been years, but he could not imagine the wizard having a malicious bone in his body. 

Bilbo could see Frerin’s strain, however, so he let himself be pushed. “Let me help you with those then, and you can tell me exactly what is going on.” And he thought _he’d_ be doing the storytelling today! 

Frerin stayed silent as they refilled their pantry, and Bilbo ached to lighten the mood.

“Did you manage to get the cheese wheels?”

“Lovely miss Lavinia saved me two.”

“At least your face is good for something.”

It was always a victory when Frerin started whining like a child. “Bilbo! I’m sure she likes more than that!”

“I hope that’s true, for your sake. Her mother’s this close to hitting that face with the rake you gave her.”

“You’ll protect me, won’t you? I swear Lavinia and I are merely friends.”

“I already protect you from most of the hobbit families, you incorrigible flirt. From rakes _and_ marriage contracts. You're lucky the younger Tooks haven't relocated to Hobbiton.”

“I can’t help being friendly! Amicable, diplomatic, everything a pri—proper dwarf should be.”

Eventually, they finished and settled down beside the hearth. There was still much tension and Bilbo couldn’t quite stop fidgeting even as he sat on his beloved armchair. It greatly relieved him when Frerin took his usual spot on the floor, within his reach. 

This time, Frerin did not need prompting. “If it were a message to me, it’s one I cannot understand,” he sighed, leaning against Bilbo’s knee. “The mark says ‘burglar’ very clearly. I’m certain it’s meant for someone else.”

 _Another dwarf_ , was left unsaid.

“Do you think the wizard is marking our home for a dwarrow thief?” Bilbo voiced doubtfully. If there was an item in Bag End that Gandalf desired, a swing of his staff would have done the trick, surely. 

“Dwarrow do not make thieves!”

“Dwarrow cannot live outside stone. Dwarrow do not use methods of stealth. Hobbits do not make ruffians, nor brothers of bigger folk. Come now, Frerin.”

Frerin grunted unhappily, though he did not remove himself from his position. Bilbo was still fidgeting, however. He yearned to do something with his twitching hands.

In his pocket, alongside a trusty handkerchief, was a simple wooden comb that he always kept on his person. The gaps between the teeth were almost needle-thin, very much unlike the ones hobbits used. He took it out now and adjusted Frerin’s head to minimize strain on both of them. When there was no protest, he began to unravel the golden threads.

“I don’t believe Gandalf the Grey would resort to such methods myself,” he said, the familiar motions serving to calm him. “Wizards ought to be more impressive than that.”

“Never met one, so I wouldn’t know.” Frerin tilted his head, welcoming the soft touches. “You said he offered you an adventure?”

“Yes, even though I barely remember him. It disappointed him to find that I’m not my mother.”

“Dunno, Bilbo. Maybe getting out once in a while would do you good, even if it’s not with the wizard and his dwarrow.”

“That’s what the wizard said and I do not appreciate this betrayal,” Bilbo sniffed. Then, that last part registered along with the longing Frerin was failing to hide. “I think it’s safe to say the desecration of our smial is a message for whoever Gandalf managed to rope into his schemes. But why ' _Burglar_ '?”

“Well, it could be a label…”

Bilbo ruminated on that before gasping in offense. “The _nerve_ of that man! I am a Baggins of Bag End and I am no burglar!” He gave Frerin a withering glare for his ensuing silence. 

“Come on, hobbits are the most stealthy creatures I have ever met. I’d say your wizard came to the right place if he’s in need of someone who can move without drawing attention.”

“Well, he’d need more than a bucketful of luck to convince anyone here to join him.”

Frerin looked at him slyly when Bilbo wordlessly asked for his beads back. “That’s why he came _here_ , you know.”

“Frerin, I _won’t_ be his gallivanting hobbit! No adventures for me, thank you very much.” His hands faltered for a second before he deftly secured the long braid he made. “You know, if this is a quest of your people… You could join Gandalf yourself. I wouldn’t stop you.” At the doubtful look, Bilbo bristled. “Well, I would _try_ of course, if only to get it in that impenetrable head of yours that you ought to be careful! I…” His hands fell to his sides uncertainly. “I wouldn’t keep you from your kind, Frerin.”

Frerin turned and put a hand on top of Bilbo’s. “Peace, friend of my heart. I know.” He stood up and began to pace around the room, betraying his anxiety. “The wizard is almost certainly leading dwarrow to the smial. My kind... but not necessarily my people.”

Bilbo nodded. Other races did not all live in one place as hobbits did, which he sometimes marveled at. Even the Bree hobbits could get to Hobbiton in under two hours. “But you’re curious…”

Frerin gave him a look but refrained from pointing out his own budding interest. “Of course I cannot show myself, in case…” The dwarf sighed loudly. “I’m being silly, aren’t I, Bilbo? Perhaps the rest of my kin have perished… perhaps I no longer matter to anyone outside. I should just face our visitors, hear them out… Get my answers somehow...” 

Which dwarven kingdom Frerin exactly belonged to was never disclosed, but Bilbo learned a few things here and there in the past decades and formed his own theories. Still, he would rather not risk danger if he could help it. “How about I greet our guests? Once we determine if they are friend, foe, or stranger, you can decide if you’ll meet them yourself or not.”

His friend bit his lip. “Friend, foe, or stranger, they will not look kindly upon me for hiding.”

Bilbo stood up and put a hand on Frerin’s cheek, feeling the coarseness of his shorn beard. “I will not look kindly on you for needlessly endangering yourself. Even if it’s only a sliver of a chance...” Frerin sighed and leaned down his forehead to meet Bilbo’s. Satisfied, the master of Bag End took on his planning voice. “Now, do you have an estimate of how many join a dwarrow expedition? We’ll have to get cooking if we’re expecting guests. Remind me to introduce Gandalf to my foot if he thinks he can weasel any dessert later.”

~

By evening, Bilbo wanted to slam his head on the dining table when another thud came from deeper in the smial. 

Dwalin, apparently the first of _thirteen_ coming tonight, immediately reached for his weapon. “Master Baggins…”

Forcing a grin, Bilbo waved away his concern. “Don’t worry about that, us hobbits have a lot of—of _garden moles_ , you see!” 

“Garden moles,” Dwalin repeated doubtfully, glaring at him. 

“Little troublemakers that dig through the earth and ruin my precious tomatoes! Ah, what do you expect when our homes are built in such a way? But they’re harmless, nothing to worry yourself about!” Bag End most definitely did _not_ have moles. No respectable hobbit had moles anywhere near their residences and his parents would’ve had his head for even suggesting it. Oh Yavanna, what if _Lobelia_ heard? She’d finally have solid ground to push them out of their home. He shuddered at the thought. 

The crashes and bumps were from Frerin, of course, who was keeping to his bedroom until Bilbo could bring information. Couldn’t stop pacing, Bilbo guessed, and probably didn't realize he was making noise. Frerin had learned over the years to be a bit quieter in his movements, but the situation was probably getting to his nerves. 

Bilbo understood that it must be overwhelming to be so close to another of your kind after such a long isolation… but goodness, _moles_. The dwarf deserved at least a twist of his ear once they spoke. 

Fortunately, it seemed dwarrow had at least one similarity with hobbits—they were easily distracted by good food. He set another platter of scones on the table and Dwalin stopped frowning. The dwarf was further appeased when his brother arrived shortly after.

Bilbo winced at the sound their heads made when colliding. Yes, it had taken Frerin a while to understand that hobbit heads were not made of stone.

He deemed it necessary to bring out the ale at this point since two suspicious dwarves would be harder to wave away than one. 

“Much obliged, laddie,” Balin cheered, lifting his mug in thanks. Even his gruffer brother was visibly pleased by the drink.

Another thump was heard, though fortuitously the doorbell rang at the same time. Gritting his teeth, Bilbo confirmed that the dwarrow had not heard and went to get the door, considering a detour afterwards to tie Frerin to his bed. 

This time, two were on his porch. They dropped their hoods in a coordinated fashion and twin grins greeted him. 

“Fili,” said one. 

“And Kili,” said the other. 

“At your service!”

 _This adventure business must not be that dangerous if they bring their young,_ was Bilbo’s first thought. He would guess that Kili was the youngest, considering the wispy beard despite the full head of dark hair. 

When he considered Fili, Bilbo’s next thought was merely... _Oh. Oh goodness._

The golden-haired dwarf standing there with a puzzled look on his face might as well have been Frerin from all those years ago. 

“Are we in the right place?” Kili whispered to his brother when Bilbo just stared at them, wide-eyed. 

Fili shifted, discomfort obvious. However, he adapted an assertive tone that was clearly practiced. “Is this the home of Master Baggins the burglar?”

“No,” Bilbo replied automatically.

“But the rune—”

The hobbit shook his head, both to emphasise his point and to remind himself of his manners. “Forgive me, yes, I am Bilbo Baggins and this is indeed my home.”

“Was it cancelled, then?!” Kili asked before once again turning to Fili, looking worried. 

Shaking his head again, Bilbo stopped blocking the entrance. “The short end of it, boys, is that whatever the wizard told you about me was utter balderdash. However, there is food on the table for you. No need to waste a trip from—er, where are you coming from, by the way?”

“Ered Luin!” Kili supplied readily, having perked up once food was mentioned. “Where can I place my weapons, Master Baggins? Do my boots go here?”

Bilbo quickly stepped in front of his mother’s glory box. “No, no need to take off your boots as long as you wipe on that rug there. Yes, that one. I’ll place your weapons in the living room.”

“It’s a lovely home, Master Baggins. For one not made of stone, it's very well-built and sturdy!”

Genuine compliments on their homes went a long way with hobbits. “Thank you, my father made it himself. A gift for my mother.”

“A master craftsman, surely! Ahhh, I can smell the food, is it this way?”

Bilbo couldn’t help but smile softly. “Yes, yes, right this way. Do you need help, Master Dwarf?” he asked Fili. 

The dwarf was quiet during the exchange, even though he wiped off his boots as requested. He gripped his weapons closer when Bilbo addressed him. “No, thank you, Master Baggins,” he said stiffly before moving past the hobbit to follow his brother. 

The wariness was just to be expected, considering the appalling first impression Bilbo made. But what was he to do when faced with a dwarf that was almost certainly part of Frerin’s long-lost family? At least two of them were entering Bag End tonight, and he must inform his friend. 

However, Dwalin was already suspicious of him and so was Fili… and what if Bilbo was wrong about the connection? What if he made an assumption that would only give Frerin false hope?

He slapped his cheeks lightly. He was a hobbit, he was _never_ wrong about who was related to who. He had much practice with the most distant of hobbits, whose familial connections could still be identified by the faintest of features and dispositions. And it did not get more obvious than how Fili was almost identical except for the more prominent nose… Not to mention Frerin had moods that likened his behaviour to Kili’s.

So how to slip away for a moment without being noticed?

His chance came when the doorbell rang and eight dwarves promptly fell into his house, Gandalf cheerfully nodding from behind them.

“Gandalf,” he greeted a little sourly.

“Oh chin up, my friend, we have quite an excitable if not already exciting evening ahead of us!”

Bilbo rolled his eyes and led the large group to their fellows, which immediately caused chaos. There were numerous introductions, appreciative reactions to the feast, and Balin wagging his finger at the wizard while he and Dwalin barked questions. Fili and Kili must’ve mentioned Bilbo’s capacity for burglary or lack thereof.

Amidst the commotion, he tried to slip back into the hallway to reach Frerin, who must be beside himself at the noise. 

“Master Baggins,” Dwalin’s brusque voice interrupted his escape. “Where are you going?”

“I—uh, just going to the back.” Bilbo shifted his weight as silence descended, save for some chewing and belching and the clattering of cutlery. “I’ve got to check if the moles have gone, you see…”

“Moles?” Kili asked through a mouthful of roast. 

“Moles?” Gandalf repeated with a raised eyebrow. “In Bag End?” _Drat._

“Master Baggins has a _mole_ infestation, apparently,” Dwalin explained, eyes never leaving Bilbo. “I thought they were harmless?”

“But! Er… my tomatoes…”

“Join us, laddie,” Balin interrupted. “There are more than enough tomatoes on this very generous spread you’ve got here, and I’m afraid we haven’t been appropriately grateful! Hungry dwarrow do not represent the best of us, I assure you. Come and eat, it wouldn’t do at all to have our host starving himself!”

“No, really, I—”

“And you can explain what you meant when you told the boys that the wizard wasn’t being truthful!” Balin continued in a way that allowed no argument. At least from a respectable hobbit.

Oh biscuits. No longer having a choice unless he wanted to raise dwarven ire, or Gandalf’s for that matter, Bilbo started arranging a plate for himself.

He stacked it high—might as well be well-fed during this interrogation. This amount of stress did wonders for his already healthy appetite.

The doorbell rang just as he was about to sit down and he scurried away to greet his saviour. 

“That would be the last of our company,” he heard Gandalf say as the wizard followed. 

Outside the door was a dwarf whose appearance confirmed all of Bilbo’s suspicions. His hair favored Kili’s, but his distinctive nose was passed on to Fili. Bilbo had thought Fili had Frerin’s eyes, considering the lad had the rest of his features… But while Fili’s eyes were cornflowers, this dwarf’s were the deep color only ever captured in Aunt Mirabella’s rare blue roses. Frerin’s eyes.

Frerin’s beloved brother was standing on Bag End’s porch. 

Then, Frerin’s beloved brother walked into the smial without so much as a polite nod, and Bilbo began to have doubts once more

“Gandalf,” the dwarf said in a voice more gravelly than Frerin’s. “You said this place was easy to find. I lost my way, twice.”

“What?” Bilbo lost his manners in utter bafflement. “There’s only one road to follow!”

He received a glare for that, making him bristle. _He's_ not the one who failed to keep to a fairly straightforward path.

“Bilbo,” Gandalf said before Bilbo could open his mouth. “Allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield.”

Balin, Dwalin. Kili, Fili. Dori, Nori, Ori, and the rest… Bilbo understood the formula by now. There was no room for doubt. Unfortunately. 

“So this is the hobbit,” Thorin began, approaching him. Definitely with the intention to intimidate. “Tell me, have you done much fighting?”

He eyed Gandalf—not only was he expected to be a burglar, but a warrior too? He sighed to himself. This was Frerin’s brother, his _family_ , and Bilbo ought to be patient.

“Mister Baggins? An axe or a sword, which do you prefer?”

Well, that was an awfully limited list. “Hobbits do not generally fight,” Bilbo replied. “But I’d say I’m most proficient at conkers.” There was a crossbow in Bilbo’s bedroom that Frerin built for him, but he’d rather not have to explain where it came from or why he had it. He _would_ bet that he was better at conkers than shooting in any case. Chestnuts may not be a traditional 'weapon', but they could still _hurt_. Frerin could confirm it for them later, or perhaps this arrogant one in front of him will earn first-hand experience.

“I thought as much, for you look more like a grocer than a burglar,” Thorin declared dismissively, inciting some laughter. Apparently the other dwarrow had come to serve as an audience to Bilbo’s humiliation. Everyone except Kili, who only looked at him thoughtfully, and Balin and Dwalin, who were nowhere to be seen.

Shaking off the temptation to throw something at Thorin’s head, he squared his shoulders. “And I heard that you were the leader looked up to by this lot, but their manners outshone yours by leagues. That is, until you arrived. Perhaps, Master Dwarf, we were _both_ destined for disappointment this evening.”

~

Frerin would go insane before the night ended, surely.

Bilbo had yet to come despite the increasing noises made by the dwarven guests. Frerin wondered how many there were to create such din and how it would feel to be surrounded by so many after a lifetime of being the only dwarf in Hobbiton. 

Would they know of the line of Durin? Was there someone who would recognize him or his braids? Did his siblings still live?

He let himself fall on his bed with a soft thump. If Thorin and Dis were out there, he hoped that they managed to bring their people to safety. He hoped that they did not suffer while he lived in much comfort. 

The years after Erebor fell were harsh and unforgiving, especially for a kingdom that was so used to plenty. He hoped his people found some sort of solace, as he did with Bilbo. He hoped that if he could ever return to them, Bilbo would visit and see the kingdom of Erebor at its best. Not necessarily laden with gold, though many would disagree, but steady in their resilience and honor.

His thoughts were interrupted by footsteps approaching. There were maybe two sets, neither of which were Bilbo’s. He was certain, for the hobbit’s footsteps were always entirely silent.

Rising quietly, he quickly nocked an arrow, pointing his bow at his bedroom door. 

He could hear the strangers hissing to each other and trying to open the doors that came before his.

“Brother, it really isn’t wise to aggravate our host—

“He’s hiding something. Moles, my axe, I’m not dimwitted. Did you see how wary Fili was of him?”

“Yes, but maybe we should first report to Tho—”

“I’m not letting _any_ of them come into danger, especially not from some conniving halfling—”

Frerin let loose an arrow just as the door swung open. It was a warning shot that embedded itself on the wooden door frame right beside the stranger’s ear. Bilbo would scold him for the damage, but that was later. He had another arrow ready before either dwarf could blink.

There were no lights in Frerin’s bedroom, but dwarven eyesight ensured that all three of them could see each other clearly enough. 

“A dwarf?” the calmer one said unsurely. He was an old one, judging by his white hair and very long beard.

The other growled in rage. “The halfling has a _spy_! Balin, warn the others, I’ll deal with this—”

Frerin lowered his bow slightly and stepped forward. “Balin?” Balin… yes, it was indeed his old tutor. He looked so _old._ And the other… he had never met a dwarf who styled his hair in that manner, but the magnificent axe was familiar, and Balin had called him brother. “And Dwalin?”

There was anxious silence after that, but Balin recognized him first, inhaling sharply. “Oh. Oh Mahal, my boy, could it really be you?”

Tears made Frerin's eyes prickle but he made no movement to wipe them. He felt frozen, as if he were in a dream. “Yes... _yes._ You found me.” Somehow he managed to move, just enough to place his weapons on the ground where they could see.

Already confused at Balin’s reaction, Dwalin was taken aback even further by the sudden surrender, though he kept his axe ready. “Balin…?”

“Oh put that axe down, Dwalin, you’re committing treason.” Balin looked like he wanted to run to Frerin, but must have been caught in the same shocked spell. His eyes, always so wise even in the past, were shining in the dim light.

“Speak clearly or I’ll use it on both of you!”

“Dwalin,” Frerin said, sniffing. This dwarf from his childhood always made time to train with him despite being Thorin’s best friend. Frerin always trusted him to have his back but never imagined that he still lived. “Dwalin, it’s me… Frerin. Mahal, I’m so glad to see your ugly mug.”

“Fr— _what_?” Dwalin snarled, finally charging. Frerin saw the moment where the rage turned into disbelief and shock, then into the strange desperation that had filled the rest of room. To his surprise, the greatest warrior he’d ever known did the unthinkable... 

He dropped his axe and promptly fainted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, Dwalin's gravitas will be reinstated lol


	3. A Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo finally gets to eat, but that reprieve doesn't last long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy holidays, rascals
> 
> the eye strain was real this year, so im going to edit this tomorrow instead

The conversation, if one could call it that, fractured as easily as an unstable mineshaft. Thorin and the hobbit exchanged shouts as perilous as the explosives unskilled men used on mountains.

“I won’t apologise for exercising my informed judgment!”

“Oh, then you’ll forgive _me_ for refusing to allow boorish, entitled arses into _my_ home!”

Thorin resisted the urge to draw his weapon. “I don’t intend to beg for your hospitality,” he hissed. He spent much of his life bending his neck for his family and his people out of necessity. This halfling was _no one_ —they already had a thief in the company, for Mahal’s sake. Whatever skills this small, impudent creature may have—the existence of which Thorin still very much doubted—did nothing to balance out how he reminded Thorin of the smug, spoiled dwarf lords who took pleasure in demeaning the exiles of Erebor.

“Now, now, you two…” Tharkun interrupted, not for the first time since the bellows began.

Coppery curls bounced as the hobbit whipped his head towards the wizard. “And _you_ , you—you troublesome old man! Your manners are just as bad as this brute here. Who invites strangers to another’s home? I haven’t even seen you since I was a faunt and you deign to meddle in our peaceful lives, unannounced, with thirteen dwarves in tow. I ought to throw you _both_ out!”

“What?” Thorin growled, focusing on the wizard as well. “You tricked us into imposing on this mad creature?” His ire was beginning to transfer, for Tharkun _knew_ Thorin hated procuring debts. If the halfling truly did not offer his services of his own accord, then he and his company would leave immediately. And they’d just have to tie up the wizard on the back of their cart—surely that would be enough to solve the problem of thirteen!

“ _Mad_ creature, am I?” The halfling’s hands began to twitch, a familiar indication of searching for a weapon. Thorin put a hand on the hilt of his sword in response. This Mister Baggins may not pose a real threat, but he wasn’t taking any chances on unknown territory.

Again, Tharkun decided to show either incredible wisdom the rest of them could not comprehend or utter stupidity. “Bilbo Baggins,” he said, a hint of reproach in his tone. “I’m sure these misunderstandings can be resolved with dinner and proper conversation. Come, it must’ve been a long time since Bag End was this full. Let us end the night as friends, hm?”

Suddenly, Mister Baggins had a lamp in his hand aimed to throw. Thorin knew not where or how he acquired it so fast, but he caught the small wrist before he did something to enrage the wizard. 

Green eyes blazed as they locked with Thorin’s and the dwarf braced himself to become the new target. 

“Bilbo!” an unknown voice called in dismay. “Bilbo, what—why are you—what’s happening here?”

Thorin turned just as the youngest of the company—his nephews Fili and Kili, as well as Balin’s apprentice, Ori—were surrounded by the rest in a defensive position. Privately, he felt pleased at their initiative though it was tempered by adrenaline. The newcomer—

“Frerin,” Thorin whispered. His brother, his _younger brother_ , was there in the flesh, tall and healthy and _alive._

Frerin looked at him, Durin blue meeting Durin blue. The fire made his hair shine like the gold it was born of. He was beautiful. “Thorin,” he replied, voice full of joy. He practically leaped forward to wrap his arms around his brother. 

Thorin faltered at the unexpected greeting, as dwarves did not often display their emotions in such a way. But what did it matter? He squeezed just as tight, noting how Frerin was still shorter but only slightly, how his hair was well-cared for, how he wasn’t as starved-looking as he was when Thorin last saw him. _Alive, alive, alive._

“Brother,” he whispered, feeling tears come up and hiding them in Frerin’s hair, mindful of the audience. “Little golden prince. I knew, I _knew._ They told me you were gone but I refused to believe it.” There had been no body to burn and Thorin had raged against anyone who suggested that his brother was dead. Time passed and the despair grew until Dis begged him to allow them peace. He acquiesced outwardly, focusing on the survival of those left, but his heart never wavered. Not for their father, not for Frerin.

Still, this did not diminish the miracle of Mahal’s hand. 

~

Bilbo watched the two brothers reunite, murmuring to each other in Khuzdul. He couldn’t help but smile at Frerin’s joy, so contagious that not a trace of Bilbo’s earlier rage remained. Thorin Oakenshield was a nuisance, but he and Bilbo shared something in common. A truce could be reached, perhaps, if the dwarf stopped putting his foot in his mouth. 

Wanting to give the two some privacy, he ushered the slack-jawed audience back into the dining room, making sure to pull on Gandalf hard enough to make him stumble. 

Balin and Dwalin were already there, the latter seated with his head in his hands, though he straightened as they flocked in the room. 

“Dwalin! Have you seen? Uncle Frerin’s alive!” Kili bounced excitedly. Dwalin groaned at the noise and pushed Kili off. The young dwarf bumped into Bilbo, who staggered at the force and almost fell on Nori, who righted him up easily. _Dwarves_.

“Are you alright, Dwalin?” Fili asked, just as Nori said “Had to stopper the ale already?” with a wicked grin. 

“Do you need assistance, Master Dwarf?” Bilbo offered.

Dwalin shook his head then seemed to regret the movement immediately. Balin hid a snigger which the other did not appreciate. “Lay off me, the lot of you. I’m fine. And aye, Frerin… Frerin, son of Thrain. Should’ve known that little brat was too stubborn to fall.” 

This pronouncement caused a lot of chatter among the dwarves, the loudest being Fili, Kili and surprisingly, Bifur, the one with the axe in his head. However, it was all in Khuzdul, so Bilbo decided to leave them to it and finally get to his dinner. 

_Finally, indeed!_ How lucky he was to be born a hobbit. He moaned happily with each bite, sparing a thought to save some cheese scones for Frerin.

“Master Baggins!” Kili called, dropping on the seat beside the hobbit. 

To Bilbo’s surprise, Fili sat on his other side, friendlier than he’d been all evening. He was all smiles now. “You were being odd earlier, Master Baggins, so I was a little concerned. But it was because I look so much like Uncle Frerin, wasn’t it?”

Bilbo nodded, Kili sagely copied the gesture. “We’ve been told that Fili takes after him… Golden hair is quite rare, to start. But it’s almost uncanny, isn’t it, Fili?” He made a show of examining his brother from head to toe. “Hmm, you’re not quite as handsome or impressive, unfortunately…”

"I'll show you impressive!" Fili smacked him and they began jeering at each other across the eating hobbit. 

“Not at the table, boys,” Bilbo chastised, covering his plate protectively when dwarven elbows came too close.

“Sorry, Master Baggins!” 

“Ah, Master Baggins!” Kili suddenly exclaimed. “How did our uncle come to be with you? You must have quite the story.”

“I’m afraid the gory details aren’t appropriate for dinner,” Bilbo said, lifting his next spoonful to explain. “And it was all rather straightforward anyhow. Many years ago, Frerin came to the Shire gravely wounded. He was brought to me and I sent for a healer. Dwarves are hardy, I have to say, for the healer saw fit to leave him to me after only a month, though he took most of the year to fully recover.” His fondness was obvious in his tone and he hoped to share it with the group. “He didn’t know where to go next, so I offered him my home if he wanted it or supplies if he did not. And well, we’ve been together ever since.”

“You saved his life,” Fili said in the ensuing silence. 

That was technically true, though Bilbo still thought he was the luckier one. He waved the words away. “Oh, it was so long ago and I’m glad to have done it.”

“No laddie, the line of Durin owes you a great debt…”

“Master Balin, I would do it all over again without anything in return,” Bilbo said cheerily. “Just guarantee that Frerin stays safe and sound on whatever journey you’ll embark on and we’ll call it even, yes?”

An awkward silence fell. The dwarves looked at each other uncomfortably, and tendrils of doubt crept up on the hobbit… 

~

“You’re retaking Erebor?” 

“ _We’re_ retaking Erebor, brother. We’re going home.” Thorin’s eyes were bright, reminding Frerin of the heir he looked up to in his childhood. If anything, his dignity had matured with him… He was every bit the king he now was.

Frerin felt a pang of regret for his lost father. Thrain, like Thror, spent much of his time guiding Thorin. Frerin only had the vaguest of memories left, of which there were few to begin with, but still he mourned for missed chances and impossible futures. Another great dwarf sacrificed for seemingly nothing, another member of his family lost forever…

“Do we have to, Thorin? Our people haven’t settled after all these years?” 

Immediately, Frerin regretted his words... Thorin’s shoulders had slumped, the burden of kingship rearing itself between them. 

“I tried, Frerin, we all did. We bent our heads to fair-weather kin, we served the needs of men, we toiled without reaping anything worthy of our race. I—I tried.”

Frerin grasped the back of his brother’s neck and leaned their foreheads together. “I do not doubt it,” he said gravely. “I do not doubt that you’ve spilled blood and sweat to provide for our people. I only regret that I wasn’t by your side to help you.”

“You are with me now. There is no need for regret.” Thorin squeezed him once and pulled back. “And the situation was never as terrible as it was in the beginning of our exile. No one starves anymore, but… This will not last for long. We were never truly welcome in Ered Luin and soon we will either fall into true slavery or die out elsewhere. We have to go _home_.”

“I understand.” Frerin will follow his brother anywhere, especially if it’s for the good of the people they ought to serve. “What did Dis say?”

“Ah, many things.” Thorin cleared his throat. “Mostly about violently ending our line if either of her boys are harmed.”

“Boys? Dis has sons? _Baby Dis_?” Balin hadn't mentioned _that._ Out of everything that happened tonight, this new information might be the most shocking.

“Two, they are here with me.” Thorin’s eyes were filled with pride. “They must be dying to meet you.”

“Nephews, I have nephews.” Frerin could not reconcile the memory of his spitfire little sister to the hardened leader—and _mother_ —who Thorin left as regent. “Bugger, it was that bastard Foli, wasn’t it? He was always eyeing her.”

“Yes, none of us were keen on the idea,” Thorin groaned. “But she took it into her own hands and eloped with him, coming back to us after a month. She’d send letters from Mahal knows where. In the end, what could we do? He was her One, it seemed.”

“He treated her well?”

“Oh yes, Dwalin and I didn’t even need to threaten him. They adored each other… We all mourned when he died in a skirmish with orcs. Kili was just a babe then, and Fili was barely older."

“Oh, darling Dis,” Frerin said, stricken. He should’ve been there, comforting his little sister, helping out with the children. 

“It was long ago, Frerin. She has made peace with it and can speak of him fondly now.”

Still, Frerin felt the painful gulf between him and his faraway sister. “We will bring her home,” Frerin swore. Whether that be Erebor or somewhere else, their family should not be separated again. “Now, where are my little nephews?”

“Not so little anymore,” Thorin muttered as he followed an excited Frerin. “Yet still rambunctious and hard to control.”

“We’ll see about that! Fauntlings—Hobbit children—are no joke, especially when more or less twenty of them swarm you.”

“ _Twenty_?” Thorin whispered as they entered the kitchen. 

“Greetings!” Frerin called out. As Balin relayed, there were thirteen dwarves in total plus the wizard. “I hear I have nephews and that they have deigned to visit their poor Uncle Frerin!”

The two dwarves on either side of Bilbo jumped up and scrambled to him, trying to knock each other out of the way.

“Hello uncle! I’m Kili, ouch—”

“—stop it, I’m _older_ , I’m Fili, uncle—”

“Boys,” Thorin growled, and they immediately untangled from each other and stood up straight. Frerin laughed gaily. 

“Fili, Kili, sons of Vili and Dis.” He opened his arms wide. “Welcome to our abode, my kin.”

Kili did not hesitate to barrel into him, while Fili followed after a glance at Thorin. Aha, signs that his gruff older brother had not spoiled them enough—at least that role was somewhat saved for him. 

“We have much to catch up on,” he said, rubbing their noses with him.

They both froze and Bilbo chuckled from his seat. 

Thorin visibly bristled. “Is something funny, halfling?”

Bilbo stopped laughing and put on the face he wore whenever he had to deal with an unpleasant relative he couldn’t insult. “Oh, you mean other than the fact that a chestnut is about to come out of nowhere and hit you in the head?” Well, couldn’t insult in full force, at least. 

“Is that a thr—”

“It’s a hobbit greeting for kin and close friends,” Frerin interjected, smiling sheepishly at the boys. “Got used to it here and you’ll probably have to get used to it from me!”

“A hobbit greeting?” a timid voice repeated. It was from the other dwarves, one who didn’t look much older than Fili.

“Uncle, this is Ori—”

“He’s Balin’s apprentice—”

“ _Boys._ ”

“So young and already acknowledged by Balin? Impressive. Your family must be proud.” The dwarf blushed and the dwarf beside him, a brother no doubt, looked proud indeed. 

“As the princes said, this is Ori, our youngest. I am Dori, head of our family, and—” Dori hesitated before pulling forward a third dwarf with a spectacular hairstyle. “This is Nori, older than Ori and younger than me. We are all at your service, your Highness.”

“As I am at yours, Brothers Ri.” Frerin heard a choking sound from the side and he winced. Ah, right. He stepped forward, nervously avoiding eye contact with Bilbo. “Er, yes… I would like to know all of you who would follow my brother.”

“Aye,” Thorin said, clasping his shoulder. “Meet all those who proved loyal to their king and now, to their prince!”

A fork dropping on a plate clanged amidst the cheers.

The epitome of bad manners. Very bad sign. Sweating, Frerin jumped straight into further introductions as an escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter had to be split in two bc reasons, so maybe the next update will be soon. MAYBE


	4. A Contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good thing Bilbo hadn't eaten much earlier...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say MAYBE.
> 
> Description of a panic attack beginning a little after Bilbo's POV starts up until the end of the chapter. Please skip if you're triggered by this. We already know Bilbo's going to join them anyway :)

There was a rambunctious round of introductions— _re_ introductions, mostly, which just livened up the room even more. Along with Dwalin and Balin, their other distant cousins Gloin and Oin were also present. Though Frerin only had vague memories of the two, it was always a joy to meet kin. Gloin, the warrior, thumped Frerin’s back with a force no one had managed in years (hobbits couldn’t, and more importantly, _wouldn’t_ ). Oin, an elder and a healer to boot, did what Frerin would never call _fussing_ over him, though he was satisfied by the rushed examination. 

“You look well, laddie,” the older cousin approved. “Ought to thank that halfling, because I can’t imagine you magically figured out how to take care of yourself.”

“Hobbit,” Frerin corrected before agreeing that Bilbo was very much the reason he was still alive. 

That made Thorin grumpy, though everyone ignored him. Frerin met Bofur and Bombur, followed by a hesitant Bifur who looked to be on the verge of tears, much to the others’ confusion. Before Frerin could ask, his nephews excitedly redirected him back to the Ris. 

“They’re famed for their beauty, you know!” Kili cheered. “But Ori turned me down, didn’t you, Ori?”

Ori glared at him, shyness forgotten. “We were _children_ , Kili—”

“I know, I know, our Ones are out there somewhere. I just like to tease,” Kili laughed. Frerin noted that Fili had put on a blank expression. _Interesting._

He caught Bilbo’s knowing gaze and knew his suspicions were founded. They both suppressed a smile at the energy of the youths, and Frerin forgot that Bilbo might have a bone to pick with him.

He really shouldn’t have forgotten, because somehow, the hobbit managed to get him alone in his study, absolutely vibrating with an uncanny energy.

“I cannot _believe_ —”

“I’m sorry I never told you anything about my past,” Frerin blurted out, sweating. “About my family, about my royal blood.”

This cut off the tirade and made Bilbo stare at him all confused. “What? We’ve been over this, Frerin,” Bilbo said, expression softening. He placed a hand on Frerin’s cheek. “I never wanted to pry. You keeping your business has never and will never diminish my affections. I trust you whole-heartedly.”

Although warmth spread through Frerin at his friend’s undying loyalty, it was his turn to be confused. “Then what’s gotten you all bothered?”

Displeasure immediately returned to the hobbit’s face. He took his hand back and started waving it at the direction of their guests. “I just cannot grasp how _he’s_ of royal blood!”

“What? Almost half the dining room’s my relatives...”

“Your brother, Frerin! A prince, of all things…”

Frerin wasn’t blind to the animosity between Thorin and Bilbo, though he wasn’t quite sure what to do about it when the situation was so new. Surely they’d stop shouting at each other once it sunk in that they shared Frerin in their family? 

Still, his trepidation at causing Bilbo’s ire returned… “He’s, um, he’s our king actually.”

Bilbo’s jaw dropped. “A king?” he exclaimed. “ _That_ pompous, arrogant—?” He gasped, covering his mouth. “A _king._ Well, I can’t be insulting a king, what would my father say? But really, royalty...” The hobbit began pacing, his mutterings continuing in the same vein. 

“Er.” Frerin wondered if he would have preferred the ire be directed at him than get stuck in this awkwardness. 

Hm, nope. He liked being on Bilbo's good side.

Eventually, the hobbit took a deep breath and steadied himself. “He’s your brother, nothing else matters,” the hobbit declared. “He might be a king, Yavanna save us, but I will cooperate because he’s your brother. I will be… friendly.”

Bilbo wasn’t looking at him, so Frerin guessed that the statement was more for his friend’s sake than his. “You don’t have to like him,” Frerin offered, a little disappointed that his two loved ones did not get along, though at the same time appreciating the gesture. “But you’ve only met a few hours ago at most. Maybe give him a chance, aye?”

The other nodded resolutely. “Of course. Anything for you. You shouldn’t have to ask me something as simple as that, forgive me.”

“It’s been an eventful evening.” Frerin put an arm around him. “Let’s go back to our guests, shall we? I’ll stay between you and Thorin, I promise.”

A smile touched Bilbo’s lips as he leaned into Frerin’s side. “It’s very disconcerting to have Bag End this lively.” Both of them were aware that this wasn’t a complaint, not really. 

~

Bilbo must be credited for he only huffed and turned away when the king— _king!_ What has the world beyond the Shire gotten to?—sardonically asked if he was done stealing away his brother. 

True to his word, Frerin sat down between them. “This was quite a lot for both of us. All happy things, but a lot.” He shot a grin at the rest of the company who were all seated by now, with Gandalf sipping wine in the corner. “Now, how are we retaking Erebor?”

“Yes, as delightful as it was to find the prince, we came here as a matter of urgency,” Balin said, bringing out several scrolls. It seemed the dwarves had cleared up the dishware and cutlery while Bilbo was gone, but the hobbit didn’t mind since there weren’t telltale sounds of crashing before.

Thorin stood at the head of the table and gave off a regal air that was annoyingly impressive. “The quest is ours and ours alone. There will be no aid from any of the seven kingdoms.”

A silence fell. The other dwarves were visibly dismayed.

Frerin approached his brother. “But we will still embark on the quest,” he said, a statement rather than a question. He wasn’t smiling, but there was grim acceptance there.

 _What quest is this that they needed the help of_ seven _kingdoms?_ Bilbo thought, alarm bells ringing in his head. 

Thorin nodded. “Oin’s portents have said it is time, and what better confirmation than finding you?” 

As much as Bilbo loathed to interrupt the rare softening of the dwarf’s gaze, he had to ask. “What is this quest, exactly?”

“None of your business.” It was the king who said that, of _course_ , but Bilbo wasn’t addressing him. 

Gandalf—Bilbo still had a bone to pick with him—took one of the scrolls and unraveled it. 

_The Lonely Mountain._

“Erebor,” he breathed, feeling faint. “You’re going to face a dragon.”

“You know about Erebor?” Frerin asked him, astonished.

Bilbo gulped, trying to get some much-needed air. Panic was taking over. “I… I started picking up books about dwarven history after I met you. Just out of curiosity, I—” He shook his head rapidly before circling the table. “Frerin, a _dragon_?! You can’t go, this is madness!”

Thorin’s glare loomed over Frerin’s shoulder. “ _This_ is dwarrow business. We speak of _home_ , halfling. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Could you please shut up?” Bilbo snapped, all thoughts of truce fleeing his head. “You were—are _thirteen_ dwarves aiming to wrest your mountain from a _dragon_.”

Balin cleared his throat. “He has a point, Thorin.”

“If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for years. Eyes look East to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?”

Almost all the dwarves cheered, while Bilbo merely felt sick. Unless one saw its remains, nothing could be trusted to be truly dead. Even without experience, enough books have taught him that.

Fili laid a hand on Bilbo’s arm. “We may be few in number, Master Baggins, but we’re fighters, all of us! To the last dwarf!"

 _He’s so young,_ Bilbo thought. _Fili, Kili and Ori are barely of age. And Frerin…_

Looking at his friend who was steadfastly avoiding his gaze, Bilbo knew that nothing would keep him from following his brother. He wasn’t to be blamed, this Bilbo knew and _understood_ , but this foolhardy plan...did these dwarves even have a plan?

“I thought to give this tonight to one of Thrain’s children,” Gandalf announced gravely. “But it is a pleasure to present it to both of his sons.” The wizard handed the two dwarves a key.

“How did you come by this?” Thorin asked, while the corners of Frerin’s eyes crumpled in grief.

“It was given to me by Thrain, son of Thror, to guard. It is rightfully yours.”

The misery in Frerin overtook some of Bilbo’s concern, but the dwarf said nothing as Thorin pocketed the key and the rest discussed the characteristics of a dwarven door and any possible locations, as well as the stealth and courage needed.

“That’s why we need a burglar,” Frerin murmured, finally looking at Bilbo.

“There is no need, not anymore,” Thorin insisted. “We are no longer only thirteen, and we already have a thief among us in Nori.”

The mentioned dwarf shrugged, but the rest started talking over each other to argue the merits and disadvantages of Bilbo’s joining them. 

“He’s hardly burglar material—”

"He _is_ darn quiet—"

"Did you see the speed he grabbed that lamp?"

“—no place for gentle folk who can neither hide nor fend for themselves—”

Anxiety reared its head once more. Was Bilbo imagining it or were the walls of Bag End closing in on him?

_I can’t breathe._

“Enough! If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is! Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unseen by most if they choose, and while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of a dwarf, the scent of a hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage. You asked me to find the fourteenth member of this company, and I have chosen Mr. Baggins. There’s a lot more to him than appearances suggest. And he’s got a great deal more to offer than any of you know, including himself.”

Gandalf made sense, if the hobbit in question was a full-blooded Took like his mother and not Bilbo.

“ _If_ he’ll sign the contract,” Thorin scoffed, taking one of the loose scrolls and shoving it at Bilbo. “A dragon is not a matter of skill in conkers. I'm certain even one as sheltered as you can discern that truth.”

Too lightheaded to retort, Bilbo unrolled the contract. Oh dear, his hands were shaking, blurring the words though a few jumped out at him: _Funeral. Evisceration. Incineration._

He ought to calm down and read through this carefully, but his body refused to obey.

_I cannot breathe, I need air, I need—_

Gentle hands took the parchment from him, placing it on the dining table before cradling Bilbo’s face. “Bilbo, shh,” Frerin was saying. “You have no obligations here, Bilbo. I know you’ve never wanted an adventure, and I would never want you in danger. Breathe, my friend.”

They touched foreheads and eventually, Bilbo managed to regulate his breaths by matching Frerin’s. 

He stared into the blue of Frerin’s eyes. Frerin expected nothing from him; he had never and would never begrudge Bilbo’s preference for safety and comfort. Even if they parted ways in the morning, they would be tied together in friendship for the rest of their days. 

Bilbo imagined _Frerin’s_ defeat, _his_ burning in the flames of the dragon Smaug. His mind conjured an image of a funeral he wouldn’t be invited to, or worse, Frerin’s lifeless body abandoned and forgotten somewhere Bilbo would never find. Perhaps Frerin would be alone in his final moments, doomed to a death through evisceration, laceration or whatever horrible manner fate had in store. Bilbo did not have to imagine Frerin near death, he’d already seen it with his own eyes so very long ago... 

“Give me the contract,” the hobbit demanded shakily. “I am joining your quest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, a few lines are taken directly from the movie transcript, notably Gandalf's monologue about Bilbo's worth and Thorin's little speech about others eyeing Erebor.
> 
> See you all, then! Idk when, but it'll happen


End file.
